


The Camping Trip

by smartgirlsaremean



Series: Stiltskin Family Bonding [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, It goes as well as you think, The Stiltskins go camping, and Marian did not come through the portal, in which Season 3 happened and Neal is still alive, mentions of rumbelle and swanfire but the girls don't show up, some sneaky angsty stuff too, the Stiltskin boys trying to be normal and failing spectacularly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:31:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9432926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smartgirlsaremean/pseuds/smartgirlsaremean
Summary: Neal is determined to take Henry on a camping trip, and Rumplestiltskin is along for the ride. Neal just wants them to have a nice, normal, male-bonding-in-the-woods experience, but normal isn't exactly coded into the Stiltskin gene pool...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post: http://thatravenclawbitch.tumblr.com/post/156108289499/efnewsservice-henry-neal-and-rumple-304-nasty

“How did this happen?”

Horror and disbelief colored Neal’s tone as he stared at their campsite. Or rather, what was _left_ of their campsite.

“I don’t know,” his father muttered next to him.

“You _don’t know_ ?” Neal hefted his sleeping son a little higher on his shoulder and winced. The kid was growing like a freaking weed. “It was _your_ spell!”

“I’ve told you, magic works...differently here. It’s harder to control and less predictable. I’ve never seen a simple fire spell do... _that_.” Rumplestiltskin gestured feebly to the black ring of destruction that surrounded the fire pit.

It was supposed to be a simple camping trip. The three generations of Rumplestiltskin’s family bonding in the woods. Sleeping on the ground, identifying constellations, cooking over the open flames.

He’d forgotten that Rumplestiltskin was not, in general, to be trusted around open flames.

“What were you trying to do, anyway?”

His father’s face went dark red and he shifted his gaze to the ground. He mumbled something, the words “fire” and “purple” just barely audible.

“Purple? You were trying to turn the fire purple?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged and continued to avoid his eyes, and Neal was forcibly reminded of his father before the curse. Before he’d gained supernatural strength and immortality and scaly gold skin and a truly terrifying ability to justify literally anything he did. Back when he was a poor, lame spinner with a faithful heart, a painful need to please those he loved, and a deep, desperate need to be loved in return.

“Seriously, how are purple flames better than regular ones?’

More muttering, and this time Neal heard the words “bloody shepherd.” Neal bent to place his son carefully on the ground. “Are you serious? You’re jealous of David?”

“I’m not jealous,” Rumplestiltskin snapped, “but the boy spends all of his time with the shepherd and I barely know him.” He looked gloomily at his grandson and, with a careful wave of his hand, conjured a thick sleeping bag around him.

“Papa, you’re his grandfather, and you’re the most powerful wizard in the realms. You don’t have to impress him.”

His father sat on the trunk of a fallen tree and stared into space, his hands clasped before him. “And you do? What was all this about? I don’t remember you being particularly keen on the great outdoors. Why are we out here?”

Neal grimaced. “Robin wanted to take Henry camping.”

“And?”

“I mean, nothing against Robin - I’m sure he’s a great guy - but he spent, what, fifteen years hiding out in Sherwood Forest with an alcoholic idiot chasing him? Big deal. Let him try to survive a hundred years in Neverland with his murderous grandfather tracking his every move. I can camp circles around that guy.”

Rumplestiltskin dropped his head and his hair shielded his face, but not quite quickly enough. Neal saw his features twist in agony, and he faltered. Papa had apologized - groveled, even - in New York, but Neal hadn’t wanted to hear him. It was his father’s fault he’d spent so many nights - a mind-boggling, unbelievable, uncountable number of nights - huddled in a cave hoping the Shadow couldn’t find him, hoping the false trail he’d laid would be enough to keep him safe for another day or two at least. As long as he lived, Neal would never forget that his father had actually let him go - sent him to another realm to fend for himself while he clung to power and darkness.

Neal had learned a lot since then - that this curse that had brought everyone to the land without magic was entirely his father’s doing, that Rumplestiltskin had spent every moment of the last two hundred and fifty years or so searching for him, that an entire realm of people had been moved about like pieces on a chessboard to culminate in that moment in which he and his father had faced off in a ramshackle apartment in New York and discovered that the wounds ran too deep to be healed.

Since returning to Storybrooke, though, Neal had found himself - well, _relenting_ , for lack of a better word. Rumplestiltskin was so contrite, so eager to please, so gentle and quiet and gods, _so_ much like he was before the dagger. His beautiful little wife - it was still totally bizarre to think of his father dating and then marrying someone, much less a gorgeous young thing whose whole being seemed to glow with the purity of her heart - treated the old warlock as if he were made of spun glass, precious and delicate and liable to break at any moment. She made sure the two of them were alone as much as possible, drawing away those who still, in spite of everything, called on his father for solutions to their problems.

In fact, the only times his father seemed to revert to his old Dark self was when he had to listen to Snow White and Prince David beg him for magical aid, their fear and revulsion just barely masked behind sweet words of unity and family and hope. In those moments Rumplestiltskin still took a perverse pleasure in drawing out the suspense, teasing them with possible terrible outcomes, reminding them of how often they’d condemned him for using magic for his own ends. He always relented in the end, and if Belle was in the room he would often waive the “price of magic,” but they still kept him at arm’s length, including him in their family circle only when it was either convenient or unavoidable. As much as Neal loved Emma and respected her parents, he couldn’t help but think that maybe Rumplestiltskin’s disdain for them was warranted.

Neal sighed and sat next to his father. “So now what?”

“Henry’ll wake up in an hour or so.”

“Right, so we’ll need food.”

“I can…”

“No. It’s just...we promised him a camping trip, right? So we’ll just build a normal, nonmagical fire and cook the hot dogs you brought and everything will be fine.”

“Ah…”

Neal looked up and saw that Rumplestiltskin’s face had gone pale.

“Papa...you did remember the hot dogs, didn’t you?”

“Well, Belle packed a picnic basket and she brought it to the shop when she came to say goodbye, but...”

“Oh, God, please don’t say anymore.” Neal rubbed his forehead. One of the first things he’d had to learn since returning to Storybrooke was that one always, _always_ knocked before entering a room occupied by the Golds. He now knew things about Belle that should have remained forever a mystery, and he’d seen sides of his father he would give just about anything to forget. “Doesn’t she ever get...tired?”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged sheepishly, but he couldn’t quite hide his tiny, self-satisfied smirk.

“Okay, so, no hot dogs. I guess that means we’ll have to figure something else out for food.” He looked askance at the crossbow he’d brought with him - Henry wanted to learn to shoot, and Neal wanted to be the one to teach him. “We could hunt.”

“If you would just let me - “

“No, Papa!” Neal rose and marched around the clearing, gathering sticks in his arms. “We don’t need magic out here. We’ll be fine without it. We don’t _need_ it. _You_ don’t need it!”

Rumplestiltskin stood frozen, his eyes fixed on his son’s face with a look of dawning understanding. It was Neal’s turn to flush and look down, but his father said nothing as they finished collecting sticks for the fire. They would light it later, when they had something to cook, and now Henry was stirring. He wriggled out of the sleeping bag and blinked blearily at his father and grandfather, his eyes widening as he took in the state of the campsite.

“Whoa. What happened?”

“Your grandpa had a little trouble with the fire,” Neal said, nudging Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestiltskin grimaced and nodded.

“Why was I asleep?”

“The spell backfired a bit,” the sorcerer admitted. “Luckily it just sent you into a short enchanted sleep, not an actual sleeping curse.”

“Huh.” Henry looked around the clearing. “My moms and Belle are _not_ going to like this.” He jumped when both men cried out.

“No - “

“We can’t - “

“ - don’t tell her, she’ll - “

“ - tell them, Emma will skin me alive - “

“ - make me reshelve books - “

“ - and then hand me over to - “

“ - trashy romance novels and she _knows_ \- “

“ - Regina, who’ll kill me _again_ \- “

“So, what, your solution is _not to tell them?_ ” Henry scoffed. “Because keeping secrets always works out so well for you guys.”

They stared at him, identical expressions of desperation on their faces, and huh. Henry wondered if _he_ looked like that when he was about to be grounded. He sighed. “Okay, fine, we don’t tell them _everything_. We won’t mention me getting knocked out by some kind of weird campfire spell. But we’ll have to tell them about the other stuff. Emma knows when people are lying to her.”

Dad and Grandpa both sighed, their shoulders relaxing, and Henry shook his head. “So, when do we eat? I’m starving.”

“Uh…” Neal glanced at his father, who shrugged.

“You know how I feel about this.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Neal reached for the crossbow and slung it over his shoulder. “I thought we’d get our dinner ourselves, y’know? Like real outdoorsmen.” At Henry’s blank look, Neal elaborated. “We’ll hunt for it.”

“Hunt for it?” Henry glanced around them. “This is Storybrooke, Dad. Not many animals around, and some of them are our friends, y’know? I don’t think I’ve ever even seen a deer in these woods.”

“There’s gotta be something, Robin and his merry men survived out here for weeks.”

“I know, but…”

“C’mon, let’s go. Grandpa can stay here and mind the…”

Rumplestiltskin raised his eyebrows.

“Never mind. You’re coming too, Papa. Now let’s go before it gets dark.” Neal turned and strode into the forest.

“Couldn’t you just magic us some food?” Henry whispered.

Chuckling, Rumplestiltskin clapped a hand on his grandson’s shoulder. “I could, but this is important to your father. Let’s humor him for a bit, shall we?”

Henry groaned and started walking after Neal. “Fine. But what’s the point of having a sorcerer for a grandfather if he never uses magic?”

His expression sobering, Rumplestiltskin shook his head and followed his boys into the forest.

Nothing about this trip was going as planned.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal teaches Henry how to shoot.

Rumplestiltskin watched as his son placed the unloaded crossbow in Henry’s hands and pointed out the sights. Henry was completely absorbed in the lesson, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright, and he looked so much like Baelfire at that age that Rumple found himself a little short of breath. How had he never seen the resemblance before that shattering day in Bae’s New York apartment? How had he not taken one look at Henry and  _ known _ ?

“So you move the crossbow until the sights line up with each other, see? No, don’t close your eye - look with both eyes or your aim’ll be off.”

It was no wonder, really, that Henry was something of a force to be reckoned with. He combined Bae’s optimism and sweet nature with Emma’s pure intentions and determination, and topped it all off with the stubbornness that was a natural by-product of being brought up by Regina.

“Okay, now line the sights up with what you want to shoot. When you think you’ve got it, you take a deep breath and squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull - squeeze. Got it?”

“Squeeze, don’t pull,” Henry said seriously. “Got it.”

“Great.” Bae took the crossbow back and cocked it, fitted a bolt in the barrel, and raised it to his cheek. “Make sure nothing’s gonna get hit by the limbs. Sight, breathe, squeeze.” He aimed the bow at a tree not far away and fired; the arrow whistled through the air and struck the trunk with a loud  _ thunk _ .

“ _ Awesome _ ,” Henry breathed, and Rumplestiltskin smiled. He didn’t blame Bae in the slightest for wanting to be the person to teach his son this skill. The admiration of one’s child was a heady thing, and although it had been centuries since Bae had looked at him with anything approaching the hero-worship in Henry’s eyes, he could still recall how it felt to be the center of someone’s world.

“Give it a shot.” Bae handed the bow back to Henry and cocked it for him, the crank a little too difficult for the boy to handle on his own. His hands never far from Henry’s, he let Henry load the bolt himself and guided his arms to raise the heavy weapon and aim it at the same tree. “Sight,” Bae murmured, “breathe...squeeze.”

Henry stumbled slightly under the weight of the bow and the recoil of the limbs, but he whooped with triumph when he saw that his arrow had struck the trunk of a tree.

“Nice shot!” Bae ruffled his son’s hair.

“It wasn’t the tree I was aiming for, but I still hit something!” Henry looked like he wanted to jump up and down but was restraining himself.

Chuckling, Bae took the bow back and slung it over his shoulder. “We can practice more a little later, but I’m getting hungry. Whaddya say we look for some grub?”

Henry nodded vigorously and followed his father back into the woods, his eyes huge and shining. Rumple followed a few strides behind, his senses on alert for anything that might threaten his family. Even though no villains had threatened Storybrooke in weeks, no one was foolish enough to think that the peace could last. If some heretofore unknown threat didn’t announce itself, tensions in the town were always simmering - between Regina and Emma, Regina and Snow, Regina and Rumplestiltskin, and, lately, Hook and just about everyone. Rumplestiltskin didn’t know how Hook had managed to make himself even more unpopular than the loathed Dark One, but his two attempts to kill Belle (whom everyone adored) and his alliance with a woman whose bloodlust and cold-heartedness made Regina look positively cuddly probably had something to do with it.

They were approaching a brush pile surrounded by fallen trees, and Bae carefully took the bow down from his shoulder and loaded it. Henry looked at him curiously, and Bae nodded at the brush - it was an ideal place for a rabbit to hide. Raising the bow to eye level, Bae carefully stepped forward, his eyes trained on a spot a few yards away. Rumplestiltskin had just noticed the tall ears and beady eyes motionless in the grass when the snap of a twig rang through the forest, and then all they could see of the rabbit was its bright white tail as it zigzagged away.

“Sorry,” Henry whispered, looking mortified. He glanced down at the stick beneath his boot.

“No big deal,” Bae said, lowering the bow but keeping the bolt notched. “There’ll be other rabbits.”

They set off again, Henry making sure to keep his footsteps quiet. When Bae froze again and raised the bow, Rumplestiltskin held his breath, but there was another snap, and the rabbit bolted. Henry looked mortified, but Bae put a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Seriously, buddy, it’s okay,” he said. “It’s your first time hunting, you can’t expect to get it right the first time.”

By the fifth missed opportunity, though, Rumplestiltskin could tell that even Bae’s endless patience was being tested. Henry seemed perfectly capable of walking soundlessly through the woods, but the moment Bae’s sights were trained on their potential dinner, his shoes would find a stick or a rock or a particularly dry leaf and startle the creature away. The daylight was beginning to fade when Bae, after watching the eighth rabbit of the night bound away from him, finally seemed to give up.

“It’s too dark to see well enough to shoot,” he said. “Come on, let’s head back to camp. We’ll think of something.” He turned to lead them back towards the campsite, and Rumplestiltskin glanced at his grandson with what he meant to be a reassuring look, but he saw with a jolt that Henry looked relieved and even a touch triumphant. Suppressing his own smirk, he sidled up next to the boy and glanced at his own son to make sure he was out of earshot.

“A shame we weren’t able to shoot anything,” he said conversationally.

“Yeah.” Henry looked up at him warily.

“Pretty rotten luck, actually. The way those sticks and leaves always managed to find their way under your foot.”

Henry looked guilty. “I just...I really didn’t want to kill anything tonight, y’know? I’m used to burgers and stuff but...I don’t know. It’s different when you’re about to kill it yourself. More personal. Don’t tell Neal?”

“I won’t, but you should tell him how you feel. He’s probably figured it out,” Rumple admitted, “but it wouldn’t hurt to let him know for sure.”

When they arrived back at the campsite, Bae stared morosely at the woodpile. “I didn’t even see any berries on the way back,” he grumped. “What kind of forest is this?”

“One that was created by a curse,” Rumplestiltskin reminded him. “It was never meant to sustain life or become an actual ecosystem. It’s more like a set dressing in a play.” He glanced back into the trees.

“Then what did Robin and the merry men eat when they were camping out here?”

Rumple shrugged. “It’s not out of the realm of possibility that animals might wander in from the actual forest past the town border. We’re not near the border, though.”

“So….what now?” Henry asked.

Baelfire looked as if he were in pain. “I guess...I guess Grandpa’s gonna do his thing.”

Flexing his fingers, Rumplestiltskin grimaced. “Bae, I don’t have to if you…”

“Yes, you do, otherwise we’re going hungry tonight.” He sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. “Just don’t make it too elaborate or anything. Some hot dogs and buns. Maybe some ketchup. That’s it.”

He looked away and focused on the fire, and Rumplestiltskin waved a hand, conjuring the scant dinner his son had asked for. Henry looked a little disappointed, but he moved closer to his father to learn how to properly start a campfire. Carefully selecting three long sticks, Rumplestiltskin used Bae’s pocket knife to sharpen them to points, and when the sun had set the fire was hot enough for cooking.

They cooked and ate in near silence, drinking water from the bottles Henry had brought - and thank the gods Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been in charge of  _ all _ the provisions, or the tent for that matter. When the last hot dog was gone, Rumplestiltskin stood and muttered something about a quick patrol. He walked off into the woods, leaving Henry alone with his father. Neal was staring into the fire, his eyes distant and sad, and Henry swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat.

“Thanks for bringing me out here,” he said shyly.

Neal looked up and shot him a quick grin. “No problem. Having fun?”

“Yeah.” Poking at the fire with a stick, he considered his next words carefully. “Sorry about the hunting. The first stick was an accident but the others…”

“I figured,” Neal sighed.

“I’ve never killed anything before. Or seen anything get killed. That’s all.”

Neal shrugged, tossing the last of his hot dog bun into the coals. “‘S fine.”

In the silence the logs sizzled and popped. Henry watched sparks dance up into the air, glow like fireflies, and then disappear.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why wouldn’t you let Grandpa magic us food in the first place?”

Neal took a deep breath and turned his stick in his hands. “Because I thought we could get our own.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t have to.” Neal frowned, and Henry realized there was more to this than male bonding. “You don’t like him using magic.”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Not even for something good like feeding us?”

“There’s nothing good about magic, Henry. And it always comes with a price.”

“What about the fairies’ magic? That’s good magic, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Neal broke his stick in half without even realizing he was doing it. “I don’t know about that. I mean, look at August. He got turned back into a puppet and then a little boy again thanks to fairy magic.”

“But fairy magic made him into a real boy.”

“Did it? Think, Henry. What conditions did he have to meet?”

Henry thought. “He had to be selfless, brave, and true.”

“Or else, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, so why were those the conditions? Why did he have to be those things to be real? You’re about as real as they come. Are you always brave, truthful, and unselfish?”

“I...I guess not.”

“And what happens to you if you do something bad? Do you turn into wood? Or do you get to learn from the experience and become a better person? That was never really an option for him. He had to be those things or he would change back.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “He was never really a real boy, was he? He was always…”

“A puppet. Yeah. Just a puppet who looked like a boy. Magic lies, Henry. It tricks. My father is better than anyone living at wielding it, I’ll give him that, but...I don’t trust it. And I really don’t want him to use it more than he has to.” Neal sighed and suddenly looked every one of his two hundred and some years. “The gods only know the debt he’s racked up over the years, or what will happen to him when the magic decides it’s time to pay up.”

Henry studied his father’s troubled face. “You still love him, don’t you?”

One corner of Neal’s mouth slid up in a crooked grin. “You still love Regina, right? Even though she hasn’t always been mother of the year?”

“Sure. She raised me.”

“My mother left us when I was about five, and even before she left she wasn’t exactly PTA material. Papa was my whole world. Yeah,” he sighed. “I still love him. That’s why I’m not quite ready to forgive him yet.”

“But you will?”

Neal smiled sadly. “Yeah, probably. That’s what we do, right? We forgive the people we love, even when they hurt us.”

“He tore apart an entire realm to find you,” Henry pointed out. “That has to be worth something.”

Neal took a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. “We should probably get ready for bed. It’s getting late.”

“Grandpa’s not back yet.” Henry squinted into the trees. “Do you think everything’s okay?”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Neal said. “He’s probably just…”

He leapt to his feet, his eyes widening, as a long howl pierced the silence of the woods.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple loses a fight, and the Stiltskin boys put their own spin on campfire stories.

Rumplestiltskin didn’t know why he didn’t expect these things to happen to him, honestly. He, a dark sorcerer, was on a camping trip with his magically-unaged son and his cursebreaker grandson, and there was no reason for this camping trip to be anything approaching normal. Still, when he left the campsite to walk about the woods and be absolutely certain there were no dangerous creatures waiting to pounce, he had fully expected to be able to make the circuit and return to his boys.

No such luck.

The gigantic gray wolf in his path growled, its teeth glistening in the moonlight, its ears flat against its head, its hackles raised. Rumplestiltskin held his hands up in surrender and carefully backed up a step, but the wolf snarled and took a step forward.

“Foolish human.”

Rumplestiltskin blinked and looked around before realizing that the guttural voice was coming from the wolf. He sighed. Of  _ course _ it was a magical wolf. What else?

“Why do you hunt alone? Why do you leave your pack?”

“I’m not hunting,” Rumple insisted. “I’m merely...patrolling. My...pack is nearby; I wanted to be sure we were safe.”

The wolf growled again. “Never safe to hunt alone.”

“I’m  _ not hunting _ .”

“You have a weapon.”

Rumple thought of the dagger sheathed and concealed in his boot and winced. “It’s not for hunting, it’s for protection. I never let it out of my sight.”

“You do not kill with this knife?”

“I never touch it if I can help it,” he snapped, and the wolf growled a warning.

“Mind your tone, human. I punish the foolish.”

“Papa? Papa!”

Rumplestiltskin whipped around to see Neal charging into the clearing, his crossbow at the ready. His eyes bugged at the sight of the wolf and he raised the bow higher, preparing to fire.

“No, Bae,” Rumplestiltskin said, raising one hand. “I’m alright.”

“Wolves?” Neal was incredulous. “There are rabbits and wolves in these woods and nothing else?”

“Amaroq is no ordinary wolf.”

The wolf’s stance relaxed a little, its ears pricking and its hackles lowering a little. “You know my name.”

More crashing footsteps and then, “ _ Whoa! _ Did that wolf just  _ talk _ ?”

Neal huffed but didn’t take his eyes off the wolf. “Henry, I told you to stay at the camp.”

Amaroq shifted his eyes from the men to the boy. “You are teaching your young to hunt.”

“I...yeah. Yeah, that’s it exactly.” Neal lowered the bow an inch or so.

Meeting Rumplestiltskin’s eyes, Amaroq relaxed entirely. “You are truly not alone.”

Rumplestiltskin took a deep breath, rocked by sudden strong emotion. Neal stood by his side ready to protect him. Belle waited in Storybrooke to welcome him home. Henry was willing to spend time with him. “No,” he rasped. “No, I’m not alone.”

“Very well.” With a flick of his tail, Amaroq turned and dashed back into the woods, his enormous paws making almost no sound even in the dry undergrowth.

Neal let out his breath in a whoosh and lowered his bow all the way. “Holy crap, that was terrifying.”

With a small smile, Rumplestiltskin turned to his son. “This from the man who survived Neverland?”

“Neverland was filled with teenage boys. I know how they think. Giant wolves? No idea.”

“Amaroq is an Inuit creature that stalks and kills those who hunt alone at night.”

“Never heard of it.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. “Once he discovered I wasn’t alone, I was no longer in danger.”

“Right.” Neal glanced around uneasily. “All the same, we should probably get back to camp. What if there’s a giant porcupine out here that preys on groups of three?”

Henry laughed, and they headed back through the woods.

* * *

“Are you sure that pole goes there?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“‘Cause it looks a little weird.”

“It’s not weird, it’s fine.”

“But it’s kind of sticking up in the middle and…”

“We’ve got this, don’t worry.”

“But what if…”

With a twang the tent pole, which he’d bent to create the proper dome shape, sprang free and caught Rumplestiltskin square in the eye. Letting loose with a string of Dwarvish curses, he stumbled away from the tent and sat on one of the logs, his hands pressed over his face.

“That sounded awesome!” Henry exclaimed. “Can you teach me…”

“Not on your life,” Neal muttered. He knelt next to his father and pulled at his hand. “Let me see, Papa.”

“‘m fine.”

“Will you let me look?”

“I said I’m fine. Finish pitching the tent.”

Neal rolled his eyes and tugged hard, finally prying Rumplestiltskin’s hand away and revealing a blooming yellow bruise. “Can you open your eye?”

His father complied, though he looked like he was in pain.

“Is anything blurry? Can you move it around?”

Rumplestiltskin looked from side to side, wincing, and Neal leaned in closely.

“I don’t see any scratches or anything. I think it missed actually hitting your eye.” He backed away a bit and grinned. “You’re gonna have one helluva shiner, though.”

“Fantastic,” his father muttered.

“We can tell ‘em all you were fighting off that huge wolf thing.”

“And what, the wolf punched me in the eye?” Rumplestiltskin scoffed.

“Like that’s the weirdest thing these people have ever heard. Flying monkeys, anyone?”

Neal regretted his flippant remark when his father’s face shuttered. “Yes, that was quite fantastical, wasn’t it. Now are you going to finish with the tent, or shall I…?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” Neal rose and hurried back to the tent, guilt making his heart thump. For all he’d suffered sharing his father’s mind and body, he at least had not been the object of Zelena’s twisted desires. The things she’d done to Rumplestiltskin - the things she’d  _ made _ him do - Neal still suffered nightmares, and he knew his father’s must be immeasurably worse. At least he’d been persuaded to see Archie now and again, sometimes alone, sometimes with Belle or Neal, and his eyes had that haunted, hunted look in them less often.

Until some idiot would make some stupid remark.

Henry helped him hammer the tent pegs into the earth, and they stood and surveyed their handiwork. Considering that he’d mostly lived in a cave in Neverland, he hadn’t done too bad a job pitching the tent. Sure, it leaned a little to one side and didn’t quite sit level on the ground, but it would keep them sheltered through the night. He helped Henry unfurl the sleeping bags inside the tent and turned to look at his father, who was staring into the flames.

Cautiously Henry walked over and sat next to his grandfather on the log, picking up a stick and poking at the fire. He kept glancing up at the sorcerer as if trying to read his mood. “So what now?” he asked after a while.

“It’s dark,” Neal said. “Shouldn’t we go to sleep?”

“I guess.” Henry shrugged. “I guess I thought there would be more to this than eating half-cold hot dogs and sleeping on the ground.”

“Your father taught you something about the stars on the way back from New York, didn’t he?” Rumplestiltskin asked quietly.

“Yeah, he said you had to navigate by them.”

“Did he tell you any of the stories associated with them?”

Neal smiled and sat on Henry’s other side. “No, I didn’t. We were pretty focused on getting you back here as fast as we could.”

“I know some of the constellations, but I didn’t know they were stories,” Henry said excitedly.

“Pick one.”

Henry tilted his head back and squinted up at the sky. “Orion.”

“Orion the hunter.” Rumplestiltskin took a stick and traced the shape of the constellation in the dirt. “The son of Neptune, god of the sea, and Euryale, queen of the Amazons.” He turned to grin at Henry. “Met her once. Charming woman, if I ignored the blade held to my throat.” Henry laughed, and his grandfather returned to his drawing. “He was the greatest hunter that ever lived. He had his mother’s strength and cunning, swift and silent and keen-eyed, able to fit an arrow into his bow and fire it into the heart of a creature before the beast even knew he was there.

“Unfortunately, he’d also taken after his father, and Neptune was never known for his self-restraint or his good humor. The more renowned Orion became, the more renown he sought, until he boasted that he could best any creature in the world. You know what they say about pride, of course, Henry.”

“Uh...it’s not good?”

“Pride goeth before a fall,” Neal said. His father smiled at him.

“Exactly. I suppose the animal world heard and resented his boast, because one day as he hunted a particularly large bear, a scorpion crept out of the grass and stung his foot. He died instantly.”

“How did he end up in the stars?” Henry asked.

“Some legends say he was Diana’s betrothed, and when he died she was so grieved that she placed him in the stars so that she could look upon him always.”

They were all silent for a moment, staring up at the heavens.

“My turn,” Neal said. “Tell him about Chiron.”

“Which one is Chiron?”

“The centaur,” Rumplestiltskin explained. “You know it better as Sagittarius.”

“That’s one of the astrology signs, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. Chiron was a centaur, but he was also a teacher and healer and musician, the gentlest and kindest of the half-horse beasts, adored by all who knew him. His death was a tragic accident.” Rumplestiltskin tossed his stick onto the fire. “Hercules had slain the Hydra, chopping off the dominant head and thus completing one of his tasks, and he carried arrows dipped in the monster’s poison. Hercules visited the centaurs on another task, to obtain a bottle of Dionysus’ wine, highly prized by the centaurs, who tried to take it. There was a fight and, by accident, an arrow lodged in Chiron’s breast. As an immortal,” and Rumplestiltskin winced, “Chiron could not die, but he was in terrible agony. He wished to become mortal so that he could put himself out of his misery, but even in his quest for mortality Chiron proved his compassion and heroism. Prometheus, who had stolen fire from the gods to give to the mortals, was chained to a rock with an eagle feasting on his liver - the liver would grow back every day, and every day the eagle would return to eat it. Chiron begged to take Prometheus’ place - to become mortal, to be chained to the rock and allowed to die, to release Prometheus from what Chiron deemed a most unjust sentence. Jupiter, astounded by this half-human who had displayed more genuine goodness than many purely human mortals, honored his sacrifice by placing him among the stars.”

“Chiron was always my favorite,” Neal said softly into the silence that followed Rumplestiltskin’s tale.

“Why’s that?”

“Because he was a hero, but not the kind of hero most people think of. He wasn’t loud or bold, he didn’t run into danger and wave swords around. He just - did what he thought was right. Sometimes it’s harder to be that kind of hero.”

Henry tried to hide his yawn behind his hand, but Neal noticed.

“Okay, kiddo, time for bed.”

“But…”

“There’ll be more camping fun tomorrow. Go on in, we’ll be in soon.”

“Okay,” Henry sighed. “Night, Dad. Grandpa.”

When Henry was safely zipped into his sleeping bag, Neal sat on the ground, leaned against the log behind him, and looked at his father, whose bruise was now beginning to turn purple and red.

“If I had known you were in Neverland, none of this would have been necessary.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was so quiet Neal barely heard it.

“What wouldn’t have?”

“The curse. Teaching Regina dark magic. Sending Emma here.”

“There was no way you could have known.”

“I would’ve come for you in an instant. You know that, don’t you?” Neal was silent, his heart beating wildly. “Don’t you, Bae?” his father pleaded.

“Why did you let me go? Just tell me that. All these years, it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to know. I knew you couldn’t get to me. I knew you couldn’t find me. I never wondered why you didn’t come after me. I wondered why you let me go in the first place.”

Rumplestiltskin was silent for several moments. At last he said softly, “I didn’t want to. You’ve been in my head, now. You’ve heard the voices.”

He had.  _ wretchedspinner,useless,worthless,patheticslaveofawitch,soiled,filthy,killyourself,bedone _ Or worse:  _ yesyesyes,killthewench,killtheboy, freeyourself,loveisweakness,sickness,death,killthemkillthemall _

“They told you to let me go.”

“Screamed it until I could scarcely hear my own thoughts. It’s not an excuse, I know that. I’m a coward and always have been, and I was scared not to listen, terrified of what would happen if I went through, of being without the power to protect you.”

“I didn’t need protecting.”

“I didn’t see it that way.” His father sighed. “You would do anything for Henry, and you’ve only known him a month or so. I had fourteen years of holding you, caring for you, keeping you safe. It was all I knew.” He ran a hand down his face. “I will never ask your forgiveness for that. I’ll never deserve it. But you wanted to know why, and the simple answer is that I was afraid.”

Neal sat silently for a few more minutes, staring up at the stars and remembering nights like this one, sat by the dim light of a fire and listening to his father weave tales of heroes and monsters and gods, somehow always featuring a brave little boy with curly hair and dark eyes. He remembered other nights, huddled in a cave and wishing with all his might on the brightest star he could see, but no fairies ever answered his call.

And through it all his father had been working, plotting, scheming, tearing apart worlds to get to the son he’d let go in a fit of fear and weakness. He’d never given up, even after hundreds of years when he had every reason to think Baelfire was dead and gone forever, even when his plans almost failed and he was trapped and in danger of losing his memories as well as his magic.

It mattered. Maybe it shouldn’t, but Rumplestiltskin’s sorrow and regret and desperation  _ mattered _ . And while it was not okay, it would never, never be okay, Neal felt that in time he could stop being angry and hurt and begin to heal. Hell, maybe he could do with some one-on-one sessions with Archie himself.

He stood and, after a bit of hesitation, reached out and squeezed his father’s shoulder. “I’m gonna turn in. You coming?”

“In a minute. I’ll put the fire out.” He glanced up at his son and smiled very faintly. “ _ Without _ magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, when I wrote Chapter 2 I had no freaking clue what was howling in the woods. The search for the amaroq was a long and arduous journey.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stiltskin boys get some exercise.

**** Henry wondered if he hadn’t just awakened really early. After all, sharing the tent with his father and grandfather hadn’t exactly been the most comfortable experience of his life. Neal snored and Rumplestiltskin muttered, and that last part wouldn’t have been so bad if the sorcerer had said anything worth listening to, but mostly he just mumbled what sounded like potion ingredients and strings of words in some dead language or other. To top it all off, there was a rock poking him in the back and it had been there all night, even though when he’d laid down his sleeping bag he could have sworn the ground was clear and smooth as could be.

At least with two grown men and one preteen boy breathing and sleeping inside it the tent hadn’t gotten cold. Regina had fussed about that, insisting that he take his warmest pajamas and making him promise he would sleep in his coat if he got chilly. As it was he felt a little like he’d been cooking in a low-temperature oven all night. Carefully he stretched, trying not to kick either of the two men awake, and looked at his watch.

It was nine o’clock in the morning.

Puzzled, Henry glanced up at the sky through the mesh covering of the tent. It was awfully dark out for nine…

A low rumble of thunder solved that mystery for him.

“Dad!” Henry said urgently, shaking his father’s shoulder. “Dad, wake up!”

“Wha? Wassamadda?” Neal buried his face in his pillow.

“It’s gonna rain, Dad.”

“So? The tent has a canopy.”

“Is it invisible?”

“Huh?” Neal rolled over and blinked up at the roof of the tent, then sat up so quickly he knocked Henry over onto Rumplestiltskin, who snorted and flailed.

“What?” he rasped. “What is it?”

“We forgot the canopy and it’s about to rain,” Neal snapped.

Rumplestiltskin cursed and struggled to his knees, and all three of them rolled their sleeping bags as quickly as they could. Henry finished first and threw himself out of the tent to give his elders more room to maneuver. Shoving his shoes on his feet, Henry stood and stared at the sky. The clouds were dark gray and growing darker all the time, and the wind was starting to pick up.

“Hurry up, guys!” he called anxiously.

Neal came out of the tent next, tossing his sleeping bag out onto the ground. “Help me with the pegs, Henry,” he said, and they ran around the tent pulling up the tent pegs and shoving them in their canvas bag. Rumplestiltskin emerged and he and Neal worked frantically to dismantle the tent; in less than five minutes they had the entire thing folded and packed away. Neal tossed two sleeping bags and his crossbow over his shoulders, Henry took his backpack and sleeping bag, and Rumplestiltskin took charge of the tent. Heads bent and faces grim, the three of them raced through the woods to the clearing where they’d parked Gold’s Cadillac, shoved the equipment into the spacious trunk and collapsed in their seats as the first raindrops pattered against the windshield.

Neal was the first to laugh; once he’d started the other two couldn’t help but join in until they were all helpless with laughter that echoed in the close confines of the car and drowned out the drum of the rain and the rumble of thunder.

“You okay, kid?” Neal asked, glancing over his shoulder at his son.

“Yeah,” Henry gasped. “I’m good. Haven’t run that fast in a really long time.”

“Neither have I,” Rumplestiltskin said, but he wasn’t the least out of breath. One of the benefits of magical stamina, Henry guessed.

Henry saw his dad give his grandpa a strange look. “Yeah, what...what was that about?”

“Hm?”

“The running.”

“Oh. I, uh...it’s a thing, I guess. In times of stress it’s almost as if I...forget.”

“Forget? You forget that you can just poof yourself anywhere you want?” Henry asked incredulously.

The sorcerer shrugged. “I am human first and foremost. I suppose there are some instincts that never fade.”

“So what now?” Henry asked into the almost-but-not-quite uncomfortable silence that fell.

“I guess the camping trip is pretty much over,” Neal answered, gesturing at the rain.

Henry wondered if Rumplestiltskin could do anything about the rain, but at this point he knew better than to ask. He didn’t need a two-pronged lecture about the price/danger of magic, thank you very much.

“I had a good time,” he offered.

Both men turned to stare at him.

“You did?” His grandfather sounded like he didn’t believe him. “The hot dogs were half-cold.”

“You got knocked out with a sleeping spell.”

“The tent was crooked.”

“We almost got drenched.”

“Well, yeah,” Henry agreed, “but I also learned to shoot a crossbow and heard some cool stories and saw a talking wolf.” They didn’t look convinced. “Plus we were together. That’s what counts, right?”

Oh, crap. Apparently, his father and grandfather had more in common than their eye color and their stubbornness. The eyes of both men looked wet and Henry wished he hadn’t said anything.

“Yes,” Rumplestiltskin said at last. “That’s what counts.”

Neal turned around and Henry thought he saw him swiping at his eyes.

The drive back to Storybrooke was quiet except for the patter of rain and rumble of thunder. Henry watched the trees, wondering why their leaves always seemed greener than usual when it rained. He thought about asking, but the silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable or strained, and he didn’t want to break it. After all, he had no idea how long it had been since his father and grandfather had been able to sit in the same place and just...be together.

They pulled up outside Regina’s house and Henry sighed when he saw that she was waiting anxiously at the door. She worried so much...but he guessed that was natural, if anything at all in Storybrooke was. At least these days she didn’t automatically curse anyone she thought might be trying to hurt him, and she kept her distrust of Neal and Rumplestiltskin pretty much to herself.

The rain had died down a bit, but his grandfather, who had slipped his sunglasses on at some point in the drive, insisted on holding an umbrella over him while the three of them went up the walk.

“So?” his mom asked. Henry could tell she wanted to ask a million questions.

“I had fun,” Henry said.

“No problems?”

Three pairs of brown eyes glanced shiftily at each other and then away. Regina’s eyes narrowed. “Inside, now.”

When they were all standing in the foyer, Regina crossed her arms and glared at the two men. “It was nothing, Mom,” Henry said quickly. “There was a little accident with the campfire and I fell asleep. That’s it.”

Crooking an eyebrow, Regina turned her gaze on Rumplestiltskin. “Is that so?” The sorcerer nodded once. Regina huffed. “Take off those stupid sunglasses, look me in the eye, and swear that Henry was safe at all times.”

Rumplestiltskin’s shoulders stiffened. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?” The air around Regina shimmered as her anger mounted. “No he wasn’t safe?”

“He was with me, dearie, of course he was safe.”

There was a pause. “Why won’t you take off your glasses?”

“It’s bright in here.”

Regina sneered. “Take off the glasses, Gold.”

“Oh my gods, Pops, just take them off,” Neal muttered.

With a bone-weary sigh Rumplestiltskin revealed his spectacularly bruised eye.

Regina hissed in a breath and shoved Henry behind her. “What happened? Who did you run into? What do they want? Is that why you’re back early?”

“We’re back early because it’s raining, Regina, and camping is not exactly a rainy-day activity,” the mage snapped. “There was no one in the woods but the three of us, I made sure of that.”

“And Amaroq,” Henry supplied helpfully. Everyone swiveled to stare at him. “The wolf?”

“ _ A wolf?” _

“Regina, calm down,” Rumplestiltskin sighed. “Amaroq was gracious enough to let me live when he realized I wasn’t alone. As for this,” he gestured at his eye, “it’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Someone was able to sucker punch  _ you _ and it’s  _ nothing? _ ”

“You should see the other guy,” the sorcerer quipped. Neal coughed.

“ _ Who was the other guy?” _

“No one!” Henry shouted at last. “No one, okay? It was a tent pole. A tent pole hit him in the eye when they were trying to set up the tent.”

Rumplestiltskin stared glumly at him as if he’d just exposed a great weakness. Neal was trying not to laugh and Regina looked flummoxed.

“You were physically setting up a tent? Why not just…”

“Okay, time for you guys to go now,” Henry said hastily. “Mom and Belle will be worried.”

“Right,” Neal said, letting out a breath. “See you around, kid.” He reached out and pulled Henry into a one-armed hug, ruffling his hair with his other hand.

“Bye, Dad.”

“Goodbye, Henry.” Rumplestiltskin nodded at him and turned away. 

Somewhere inside his head, Henry knew what he was about to do was risky, but when had that ever stopped him from doing anything? He hurried forward and wrapped his arms around his grandfather. “Bye, Grandpa. Thanks for the trip.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath, and for a split second Henry was sure he was about to be shoved away, but then his grandfather’s arms swooped around him so tightly he could barely breathe. “You’re very welcome, my boy,” he whispered roughly.

When he let go, Henry stepped back towards his mother. He knew without looking that Rumplestiltskin’s eyes would be teary again, so he kept his gaze trained on the marble floor. He heard both men bid goodbye to Regina and then the door opened and closed.

When they were gone, Regina set her hands on her son’s shoulders and turned him to face her. “You’re sure everything was alright?” she asked.

Henry grinned. “It was the best camping trip ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, commented, and kudos'ed! I'm really quite proud of this story. Any ideas for future Stiltskin family adventures?


End file.
